All Hands on the Bad One

I've been waiting anxiously in the foothills for Corin Tucker's voice to come down off the
mountain. At ...

I've been waiting anxiously in the foothills for Corin Tucker's voice to come down off the
mountain. At night the villagers used to hear her baying at the moon. Alas, the impassioned
Sleater-Kinney frontwoman has left her banshee goat of a wail up to pasture on the craggy
cliffs. All Hands on the Bad One finds the Northwest power-trio at their most melodic,
playful, sarcastic, and punchy. Occasionally the spirit of the goat god still springs from
Tucker's belly, but these screams follow baiting pop harmonies. Besides, when Rolling
Stone uses the words "brilliant" and "fury" in the latest glowing Britney Spears review,
Corin's outbursts feel positively baptismal.

Sleater-Kinney and Fugazi reside alone in the top echelon of American punk rock. They make
darling twins. Both bands continue to grow in talent, despite the jaded whines of old schoolers.
Both feature dueling guitars that bobble complex, inventive lines like ping-pong paddles. (And
Sleater-Kinney don't even need a bassist to lock the groove.) Both can raise the hair on the
back of your neck, the ass out your seat, and the volume on your stereo. Most importantly, both
hold a mirror up to the face of themselves, their scene, and society in general. You better
believe that "And for all the ladies out there I wish/ We could write more than the next/
Marketing bid/ Culture is what we make it/ Now is the time to invent!" is the "We owe you
nothing/ You have no control!" of 2000. Now that the smoke has blown away after the media
exploitation of the riot grrl scene, the true believers remain behind-- not working PR for
emo bands.

But preaching has its limits. After all, a band can't write a song called "You're No Rock n'
Roll Fun," and load it with lyrics such as, "Like a piece of art/ That no one can touch/ Your
head is always up/ In the clouds/ Writing your songs/ Won't you ever come down," without
actually having some fun. The album opens with the proposition of "Eye cream and thigh cream/
How 'bout a get-high cream" before shouting "but I gotta rock!" and bursting into oo-waah's and
handclaps. "Milkshake n' Honey" spits wit at expatriates in Paris as Corin rolls her eyes at
the type of denizens in The Sun Also Rises. Acting the roll of the insolent daughter,
Tucker exclaims, "Daddy says I got my mama's mouth/ I'm all about a forked tongue and a dirty
house."

But this isn't poetry! More than ever, S-K put four to the floor and hammer away on infectious
riffs. A brash return to vigor after the mellower The Hot Rock, All Hands will
win over new ears who previously found the sound too sky high, loose, and angular. Like a David
Mamet character rewrite over a Joel Schumacher script, Corin reveals greater character depth
than ever before. All Hands on the Bad One finds Sleater-Kinney at their most
fist-pumping (on the title track), lovely ("Leave You Behind"), longing ("The Swimmer"), and
bratty ("The Professional"). Janet Weiss hammers harder, Carrie Brownstein smothers with perfect
harmonies while digging deeper on the E string, and Corin grabs your aorta and strokes. When
Sleater-Kinney, the band with the busiest guitar lines and boldest voice, turn in their best
effort yet, it demands your attention.